


A Box in the Closet

by cata-kinks (catastrophage)



Category: Fear the Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Crossdressing, Kinktober, Kinktober 2018, Lingerie, M/M, Masturbation, Mother Complex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-11
Updated: 2018-10-11
Packaged: 2019-07-29 12:42:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16264427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catastrophage/pseuds/cata-kinks
Summary: Kinktober Day 11 -Crossdressing. Troy has a little secret.





	A Box in the Closet

**Author's Note:**

> So I actually wanted to write this about Nick having fun in women's clothing - which would suit him extremely well imho. But my mind drifted towards Troy, considering he could have such a kink, too. And this story about his closeted sexuality, his undeniable mother complex and his possible identity struggles came up.
> 
> Troy is around 18 or 19 years old here, not wearing a beard yet. His mother is still alive.

**A Box in the Closet**

He stood in the hallway, upstairs and waited for the sound of the front door falling shut. Then he counted to ten, and slowly, carefully, sneaked back into his room to open his closet. Far in the back lay an old box, and inside, neatly folded, some of his mother's clothes.  
It had become some kind of a ritual. When his father went out to get drunk, and he felt like it, Troy opened his secret box and reveled in the beauty - and the slight lavender scent of his favorite skirt of hers. He could remember how she used to wear it, before she was too sick to leave the bed. How she stood there, out on the meadows - or rather, the grass patches of the wasteland - and called his name. He couldn't actually recall her doing so - for all he knew she had always just called him "boy" or "kid" like he wasn't hers. But in his imagination she called his name, and she smiled a smile so genuine that it almost felt surreal.

He touched the soft fabric, with the delicate embroidery details. So many tears he had cried on it as a child. So often he had been pushed away, not allowed to hug his mother. But when he held it close to his face now, it just smelled like fabric softener, like spring, like the little lavender bags she put in her closet.

Underneath lay a blouse, a white one, with tiny daisies stitched on the collar and sleeve cuffs. It had frills and pintucks in the front, and a little ribbon around the neck. The details, the delicacy of this piece fascinated him. He had looked at it, over and over again, studied how it was sewn. One day he had realized that the waistline was defined by just two small seams, and carefully not to damage the fabric, he had opened them.  
And now... it fit. Admittedly, the sleeves were a little short, and also a little tight. He had to remove his watch first, and undress himself before he could slip into it. In the mirror on the inside of his wardrobe door he watched himself close the buttons. The decorated front let him appear like a dandy from the last century, and he liked that. It didn't look unnatural.

There was more in the box. Troy took some smaller pieces of fabric out, and sneaked to the window, to make sure his father was nowhere to be seen. Never ever was he supposed to know.  
Back on the bed, Troy unfolded the nylon and lace in his hands. He removed his shorts and socks, the last pieces of his own clothing he still was wearing, and rolled up the stockings, to slip his feet inside.  
The fabric felt a little scratchy, pressing the hair against his skin. But there was no way he could shave his legs - if anyone noticed, he'd go through hell.  
Thankfully Tracy had long legs and used to order her stockings one size up. They reached up mid-thigh on Troy, and didn't awkwardly hang on his knees like he was afraid the first time he tried them on. No - they even felt comfortable once they were in place. He quickly rubbed his calves against each other, enjoying the smoothness.

Next, the lace panties. It had taken him a few weeks to find the courage to smuggle those out of his mother's closet, and a couple of months to put them on for the first time. They did not fit, of course, but at least they were stretchy enough so that with a bit of pushing and pulling most of it would stay inside.  
And finally... Troy had never been aware that Tracy wore garters. He had never seen them before he started to manage her laundry and sort her closet, and by that time she wasn't wearing them anymore. She clearly wouldn't miss those. He bit on his lips, concentrated as he was, when he fastened the garter-belt clips to the stockings. Small satin ribbons were now sitting on top of the lace hems. With a bit of imagination his legs were women's legs.  
He could feel himself twitch in the panties, and he had to adjust them, for it all to stay in place. "Not yet," he whispered.

Quickly he grabbed the skirt, that dear piece of outdated fashion, and put it on. The fabric ran over his nylon covered legs like a soft breeze, and he wanted nothing more than to sit down and indulge in the sensation. But one part was still missing.

In the top drawer of his desk, far in the back, hidden inside an old pencil case, was a lipstick he had stolen from Tracy, almost one year ago. Maybe it was the treasure that had started all this, when back then he had painted kiss marks on his cheeks and imagined that his mother had kissed him.  
Now he used it to paint his lips, finishing his little masquerade. It was soft red, with a pearly shine to it. The color perfectly matched the details on his skirt, and it transformed him, in his thoughts, into someone else. Someone considerably more feminine. A daughter Tracy never had.  
After one final look into the mirror, Troy sat back down on his bed with a sigh. If only it was this easy to transform. To be someone unlike himself.

He closed his eyes, and slowly let his hands wander over his legs, up under the skirt. "Yes, touch me," he whispered and imagined someone else caressing him. All the love he ever wanted, in midst of this lavender scent and softness. All the femininity, the good, warm, caring femininity, projected onto himself.  
Troy reached his thighs, the elastic straps of the garter belt. His fingers traced every detail of the lingerie, until they made their way to the hemlines of his panties. 

"...love you..."  
His other hand ran through his curls, rested on his forehead for a while and went back to his hair.  
Down below, he started palming himself, softly pressing against the lace, and the sensitive skin beneath. Quiet moans and whimpers escaped his lips. He quickly muffled them by shoving his arm into his mouth.

Soon after he pushed down the panties, so they wouldn't tear or stain, and then ran his fingers up his shaft, tickling his skin so it sent shivers through his body.  
Yearning for more comfort, along with those lustful sensations, he grabbed for a pillow and pressed it against his chest, then up onto his mouth, to suffocate all the sounds escaping his throat, as he started working himself under the skirt. He spread his legs a little wider and imagined that a handsome young man lay between them, and that every touch of himself was really a touch of the other.

Faster and faster he went, until he clenched his teeth to stop a loud, sharp breath, and cupped the tip of his member with his hand, so that he caught all that he spilled and didn't stain the skirt.  
His body still was shaking, when the cold feeling of being unwanted returned. Troy's glance fell on the open box on the floor, which he would soon put back into the closet, all his secret dreams inside.


End file.
